


Combined Resilience

by twitchtipthegnawer



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftercare, Consensual Violence, Coughing up blood and organ chunks, Dom/sub, Drug Use, F/M, Femdom, Guro, Heavy BDSM, Knifeplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, That but while crawling and also with pins., You know that thing where people kneel on rice as a punishment?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 18:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20013172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitchtipthegnawer/pseuds/twitchtipthegnawer
Summary: Connie and Vincent were the perfect couple next door. Happily married, hardworking, very in tune with their childrens' lives. It just so happened that those children enjoyed the sight and taste and sound of blood gushing. It just so happened that they came by that honestly. It just so happened that Connie didn't bake particularly typical cookies, and that her husband was the one person for whom that wasn't ominous.





	Combined Resilience

**Author's Note:**

> A commission from @retawaltz on twitter who is first of all, amazing at coming up with the BEST family dynamics, and second of all? Currently working on a game featuring these characters!!! If you like the fic, I _highly_ recommend hopping over to twitter for some more info on the wonderful murderfamily :^D
> 
> Also formal apology for the, er, creative tagging. Guro just isn't popular enough on here to have conveniently pre-named tropes for me to lean on, sad.

“Mommy,” said Kitten. “Can you hurry, puh-lease?” She drew the word out into two syllables, which was how Connie Gifton knew her daughter was really getting impatient.

“Just one more minute!” She called back, licking her thumb and rubbing firmly at the rusty smudge on Mutt’s chin. He was such a ragamuffin, always getting dirty.

It took another lick before he was clean to her satisfaction (the second one tasted like copper, but she didn’t mind much), and then she was herding her children into the minivan. Kitten got dropped off first, at the only mall in town that was still open. Open, of course, didn’t exactly mean it was  _ active. _

Her car clunked over broken asphalt, right the way up to the weed-strewn sidewalk. Kitten climbed out, then happily walked to the sliding glass door, which had recently broken and showed no signs of being fixed. Her sneakers crunched on the scattered shards of glass. A strange man stood off to the side, eyeing her consideringly while he smoked a cigarette.

“Girls!” Kitten called out.

A dozen voices responded, ranging from shrill to smoke-rasping, “Kitten!”

Connie smiled while she watched her daughter hug a girl with more tattoos than plain skin. “You kids have fun today, you hear?” She said, speaking to the whole gang as though she was their mother. Considering how few adults approved of their less-than-legal activities, she knew some of them really thought of her that way.

The tattooed girl replied, “Yes, Mrs. Gifton.”

A black-haired girl near the back said, “Will do Kitten’s mom!”

“We will!”

“I promise!”

“See you later!”

“Can you bring us lasagna again?”

Kitten stomped her foot. “We’ve got more important things to do tonight than talk to my  _ mom.  _ And I told you, someone tried the lasagna last time, so we can’t get any more.”

Chuckling, Connie drove away, rolling up the window as she did. Mutt was gnawing on his thumb and not paying much attention to what his bigger sister and her friends were doing, but he perked up as they approached the elementary school.

“Now, Mutt, before you go to soccer practice, what are the rules?”

Mutt whined, puppy-like, and didn’t answer. Connie turned around in her seat and, without dropping her bright, cheery smile, recited. “No biting. No scratching. No spitting on the other players. If they agree to playfight with you, only do it where the grown-ups can’t see. Do you understand me?”

With a sulky nod, her son finally popped his thumb out of his mouth. He was too old for the habit, but Connie found it more convenient to let him continue.

Now that she was assured of her son’s obedience for the evening, she popped open the car door, and let him climb out. He happily ran straight to the grassy field where the other little boys were kicking around a ball. Connie’s children were very different from one another, but she loved both equally.

The only other person she really applied that word to was waiting for her, though, so she didn’t sit there to watch soccer practice. Instead, she turned the car around, and drove back home.

Her husband, Vincent, had still been at work when she’d left. She’d timed dropping the kids off such that, when she arrived, she found his car already in the driveway. Climbing out of the car, she gently patted her neatly coiffed curls, and clicked her heels all the way up the steps to her front door. The white picket fence in the front yard was spotless as always, the grass perfectly mowed. The outside of her house was immaculate.

As soon as she opened the door, it was to find Vincent, kneeling naked in the entranceway. He’d waited patiently for her, but already, he was hard. His cock had flushed a deep red and a pearl of precome shone at the tip. Was that a puddle under him, as well? Connie lifted a hand to her mouth to cover her laugh at his plain desperation.

“Welcome home,” he said to her. His dark, brown eyes were downcast.

“Welcome home to you too, darling,” Connie chirped. “How was work?”

She shut the door behind her in order to not give the neighbors a show, then set one foot daintily on the ground in front of Vincent. He obediently lowered his head to kiss the top of the light pink, sensible heels, and said, “It was alright. My boss mentioned a raise again, but I doubt he’s going through with it.”

“Mmm, shame. You work so hard for them, too.” She nudged her toe against his nose, encouraging him to sit back up, then pressed her heel between his legs. He chewed his bottom lip until she saw a bead of ruby red drip down his clean-shaven chin, but he didn’t move away from her ungentle attention.

Just how she liked it.

“Come along, then. The kids won’t be back for a couple of hours, and I’ve got some new cookies for you to eat.”

Clicking along the linoleum floor, Connie smiled to hear her husband shuffling behind her. On all fours, where he was always at his happiest.

They arrived at the kitchen table, which was a pale, wooden affair, and she sat down in the cushioned chair at the head. Vincent sat at her feet, patient as could be, while she surveyed the cooling rack of cookies she’d left behind on the table. First, she plucked up one she’d cut in the shape of a daisy and dyed a sunshiny yellow.

Wordlessly, she handed it over. Wordlessly, Vincent took a bite.

Connie took out her phone, turned on the audio recording app, and waited while Vincent chewed. “Any preliminary reactions?” She asked.

“It tingles,” he said. “A bit like spicy food, but without any flavor of heat. After I swallow, it follows down my throat.”

“Right.” She glanced at the time on her phone, and then began to count down. The chemical should only take about thirty seconds to get into his bloodstream. The faster, the better.

Twenty-eight seconds later, Vincent fell onto his side.

He curled in a ball, legs kicking out in tiny, aborted movements, arms pressed up to his chest. The convulsions looked terrible, a bit of foam forming at the corner of his mouth which Connie could see. His eyeballs rolled back, and across his naked skin muscle tremors were visible, like a horse trying to shake off a whole hoard of flies.

And, through it all, he was orgasming. “First one of the night,” Connie muttered. “You were pent up, weren’t you dearest?” Vincent couldn’t respond, busy as he was writhing in pain and spurting creamy, white come over the floor. Connie would have to punish him for that later, but for now, she was busy timing how long the convulsions lasted.

“F-f-feels good,” Vincent forced out. His teeth were clenched so tightly that Connie worried he might bite his tongue off. “Th-thank y-y-y-you.”

“Don’t mention it. Quite literally.”

On second number one hundred thirty one, Vincent’s breathing went from close to hyperventilation, to labored panting. Connie privately wondered how long the effect might last on a normal person; Vincent’s resistance often shortened anything meant to be prolonged, much to both their chagrin. She already knew she’d have to lower the dosage, though. That much pain could well kill anyone fully susceptible to the poison.

Scratching her fingers through his hair the way she might do with an obedient dog, Connie encouraged Vincent to sit up again. He was left leaning against her leg, trying desperately to get his tremors under control so that he could have another cookie. He was eager, her husband, and Connie fondly traced her nails down behind one of his ears, eliciting a trail of goosebumps in her wake.

His hair was only a shade darker than Mutt’s, as well, which Connie found endlessly endearing. It would get even darker as his hair became more and more wet with sweat, tonight.

Vincent cleared his throat, then weakly asked, “Another, please?”

“Of course, darling.” The cookie Connie handed over this time was as traditional as one could get, simple and round and chocolate chip.

Crumbs fell from his lips onto the floor, when he took a bite this time. Since Connie didn’t tell him not to, and there was no immediate effect, Vincent decided to eat the whole thing. Connie was glad, as this poison was different from the last. Something intended purely to cause pain was useful, yes. It could torture information out of whoever her clients wanted. But other poisons, she developed simply out of her passion for the art.

“There’s definitely a noticeable taste,” Vincent said. “It’s incredibly sweet. Were you, maybe, trying to hide the flavor?”

“Exactly. You’ve been learning, haven’t you dear?” Connie complimented.

“I’ve been - been - ”

“Trying?”

Smiling, Connie finished his sentence for him, right as he bent away from her dress to cough. Blood spattered their linoleum. He continued coughing, more and more labored, each aborted breath in wracking his frame as his shoulders struggled to rise. If Connie didn’t know better, she’d be getting worried about him.

Raw, spongy meat flopped from his mouth onto the floor. Vincent took a shuddering breath, then asked, “What…?” He could only get one word out before he was trying to clear his throat, and then coughing once more.

“Your stomach lining, I think,” she explained. “I’ll have to test it later, of course.” She nudged at it with her toe, and then - noticing how her husband’s eyes followed the movement - stepped down on the chunk of his insides. He groaned, and she gripped his shoulder, forcing him to straighten up. The sight of his cock valiantly trying to harden after his recent orgasm was enough to make her cross her legs.

Anyone else would be vomiting a fountain of blood, by now. It was a death that would last hours, and make quite the spectacle in the meantime. Connie could sell it as very nice incentive to make others cooperate after witnessing its effects. Truthfully, she just enjoyed it.

Vincent coughed up another chunk, and then another. Grinding them under her heel, Connie decided to reach down and grab his dick. He began coughing even more, flecks speckling his lips and her arm in red. “Oversensitive?” She asked, to which he nodded. She gripped harder. Knowing him, he’d thank her if he could.

“Ready for another?” It was a cruel question, given how Vincent had still clearly not recovered from the last poison.

“Always,” he replied. As she’d known he would.

Marriage was not without its perks. Especially when one found a match as well suited to them as Vincent was to Connie.

She released his cock in favor of picking up another cookie. This one was the reddish hue of snickerdoodle, but cut in the shape of an apple. She ignored Vincent’s offered hand, instead gripping his jaw and digging in her pink-painted nails. He opened his mouth, stuck his tongue out, and waited. He’d learned the hard way what she wanted when she did this.

Ever so carefully, Connie set the cookie down on his tongue. He struggled to eat it in one bite, especially with her stabbing claws continuing to make chewing painful, but he managed. When she released him little red crescents adorned his cheeks.

He swallowed, licked his lips, and then smiled up at her. “Nothing noticeable at all,” he promised her. “This one’s perfectly hidden.”

“Wonderful,” Connie all but purred.

A couple of minutes passed before this one kicked in. That was fine; it was subtler, useful for subterfuge, though of course that wasn’t Connie’s purpose in using it today. She  _ did  _ worry the effect might be short-lived if she’d guessed the dosage wrong, but she was sure Vincent wouldn’t mind trying out different amounts later.

Of course, this meant that by the time he began to relax, he had both recovered from the pain and passed most of his refractory period. And so, when all of a sudden he went limp and slumped into Connie’s legs, she was grinning with more predatory glee than usual.

“Wh-huh?” Vincent slurred as best he could. She shushed him, set him down on the floor and climbed out of her chair as she did.

Straddling his waist, Connie slid the kitchen knife out from under the cooling rack of cookies. “I think you’ll like this one best,” she said. “It’s a sedative, meant to keep you still and pliant. But it won’t dull your sense of pain at all.” She slid the blade along the center line of his belly, from his sternum to his bellybutton. “And best of all? It’s a mild coagulant. So we don’t have to worry about you bleeding out.”

All he could do in response was moan. A normal person wouldn’t even be able to manage that, but Connie wasn’t worried about the lingering dregs of Vincent’s mobility. Her good boy would lie still for her even without drugs forcing him to. Of course, the invisible ropes metaphorically holding him still did add to the appeal, regardless.

With one finger, Connie traced the thin, red line she’d just drawn on him. It had already turned into hard little beads, which illustrated her point nicely. It also helped that his stomach wouldn’t be bleeding and making him queasy throughout this, she supposed.

As a present to her favorite test subject, she began cutting a word into Vincent’s skin. She had to be careful not to pierce all the way into his organs, however. His resilience only really applied to poisons, which was convenient right up until she decided to get creative, as she had today.

One line, which she tucked her nail into before the blood could glue it shut. She pulled it out, then placed it in Vincent’s mouth for him to clean. Another line while he did little more than drool over her digit, and a third when she painted a line of spit down his chin. The letter  _ M _ now stood out in bright red relief on his skinny chest.

Five total now, as simple as an  _ I  _ could get.  _ N,  _ however, took three, and watching his body try to shy away from the pain on the final one made Connie shiver a bit. At one point, his spine twitched into the tiniest arch, and Connie had to flinch away quickly. She didn’t want these marks to scar, only scab and linger for a couple of days.

_ E  _ took four, which she could admit to getting a bit impatient with. That first, long line had her sliding her hips down a bit, and she felt Vincent’s dick tap against her ass, leaving behind a sticky patch on her dress. “Don’t stain it,” she warned.

His head lolled on the nod, but Connie planned to hold him to that. On the first horizontal line, Vincent swallowed, labored and desperate.

Second one, and she could  _ feel  _ the way his cock jumped, the smallest bit of muscle spasm enough to produce quite an effect  _ there.  _ He must be desperate to come, by now.

Third, and somehow, he managed to hold back. The sensation of stinging, slicing pain wasn’t dulled in the slightest, and she knew it was more than enough to bring him to completion, normally. He was as desperate to obey as always, though.

Standing up to survey her work, Connie smiled. “Well done.”

Praise, combined with her heel slipping over his slick cock, brought him off this time.

Slowly, Vincent sat up, limbs made heavy by pleasure, pain, and drugs. She was patient with him, simply waiting in her quaint little chair and glancing between the clock and her phone.

“I’ll have to pick up the children, soon,” Connie noted. “We’ve only got time for one more.”

Though his thin bottom lip stuck out in a pout, Vincent nodded, his cheek nuzzling Connie’s knee as he did. She had difficulty deciding between the remaining cookies, considering her options carefully.

Strawberry? No, those were unconventional, and she wanted time to experiment with them properly. Peppermint? But those were out of season, and her client wouldn’t need them for a long time. Peanut butter, sugar cookie, and shortbread were all dismissed as well. And then, her eyes landed on the almond one, and she snatched it up.

“Not cyanide, sadly,” she pointed out when she saw his eyes light up. “But I hardly think you’ll be disappointed with it.”

“I never am, dearest,” Vincent assured her.

Trembling hands barely managed to bring the cookie to his lips. He chewed very thoroughly, his eyebrows bobbing up and down in a way that let Connie know the flavor was off. Quite how, though, he wasn’t sure how to explain. And it wasn’t as though  _ she  _ could try it to find out.

Not that it mattered particularly, given how he gasped and gently touched his own cheeks the next moment. “What effect has it had?” She asked, trying not to allow herself to drool. How unladylike, and yet, the anticipation…

“My - my eyes. I can’t see anything.”

“Nothing? Nothing at all?”

“Hmm. There might be something? It’s difficult to tell.”

Slumping back in her seat, Connie tried not to feel too disappointed. Sometimes Vincent’s resistance was a bit inconvenient, but that was alright. She still had another idea, one which might turn this into a fitting finale to their evening.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, almost absentminded.

“Wh-where are you going?” Vincent reached out to her, blindly, but she’d already stood up from her seat, and his hands brushed nothing but air.

“Just upstairs,” she replied. “Won’t be a moment.”

Off she went, and she didn’t need to look behind her to know Vincent followed the sound of her shoes as carefully as he could. Ordinarily she wouldn’t wear those in the house. For what she had planned next, though, they would be useful.

Under her bed was a black box which held some of Vincent’s favorite toys. She pulled a smaller box out of it, then began to dump the contents over the floor. They fell nearly silently on the carpet, and she left a trail all the way down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, however, the clinking sound alerted Vincent to both where she was and what she was doing.

“Pins?” His whole face lit up, including the dark brown eyes staring about aimlessly.

“Good guess.” Connie shifted, crunching a few stray pins under her shoe, and said, “Come to my voice, pet.”

Knees squeaking quietly on the hardwood, Vincent crawled forward. He drifted a bit to the left, but he knew the layout of their house well enough. The first time his palm landed on a group of pins, his elbow nearly buckled. It clearly hurt, but still, he forced the weight onto that hand and moved a knee forward.

Progress was slow, but Connie didn’t mind. She loved the way Vincent trembled and occasionally yelped, the thickening trails of blood he was leaving behind him. As soon as he reached the stairs, it got even harder, his fingers grasping to find the edges of stairs. Much as Vincent was a perfect masochist, even he didn’t like the feeling of missing a step in the dark. And the whole way, his eyes were staring, seeking out Connie. His one light in the dark.

“Keep following me, that’s it,” Connie said, backing up another step.

Setting his knee down directly onto a pin, Vincent sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “I can see shadows, now,” he told her. Connie regretted forgetting her phone on the table. “Is that what’s meant to happen?”

Even though he couldn’t see it, Connie shook her head ruefully. “There’s supposed to be visual hallucinations. I was hoping they might be vivid enough to induce actual pain, but I suppose I’ll have to give you a much higher dose to affect you, darling. You’re too sturdy for your own good.”

“What s-sort of hallucinations?”

_ Aw, _ he was  _ jealous. _ She didn’t actually know, of course, and thought it likely that they’d be highly personalized and unpredictable, as hallucinations tended to be. But she could indulge him a bit, while he continued to crawl up the stairs, and then down the hallway towards the master bedroom.

“Perhaps some terrible tentacled monsters? They’re everywhere on the internet, these days, and it would make  _ quite  _ the impression to have one tear you limb from limb… all without actually harming your precious arms and legs, of course. Or a dragon, those are classic. To see one impale you with a single claw through the chest… ah, maybe I’ve been reading too many paperbacks these days, with the kids off at school.”

By the time her little monologue was finished, they were most of the way through their bedroom. The master bathroom door stood open, a bath already drawn in it, though it had gone a bit lukewarm with how long the water had sat. This was fine; Vincent preferred milder temperatures when he was still sensitive from Connie’s attentions.

“Just a little further,” Connie encouraged. “You’re doing so well.”

Both his hands and his knees (and to a lesser extent, his shins) were caked in pins, which drove deeper each time he put weight down on them. His blood was sinking into the carpet, filling the air with a coppery smell Connie adored. He made it to the side of the bath, then slumped against it, panting. He  _ had  _ been tired after work today.

Beside him, Connie crouched and took hold of his wrist. He offered his palm up willingly for her to pick pins from - not without jabbing a couple into spots which had somehow remained unscathed up until now, of course.

His skin divested of the little pieces of metal, Connie helped get him into the tub. They chatted meaninglessly. About Kitten’s little gang, about Mutt’s soccer team, about Vincent’s job and the next PTA meeting. He didn’t participate much at the beginning, but the more and more his sight returned to him, the more talkative he became.

Soaping him up, Connie admired the red, irritated, spotted skin of his body. And, of course, her mark standing out bright red on his chest.  _ MINE.  _ Vincent hadn’t gotten a clear look at it yet, but she knew he would blush the next time he walked past a mirror.

“Stings a bit,” he said, quite happily, when she rinsed the soap away.

“Mmmhm,” Connie agreed. The tear tracks under Vincent’s eyes disappeared beneath her soft, grey washcloth.

“If you need to get the children, I can take it from here.”

“You sure?” Connie pet his hair some more. “I don’t mind helping get you dressed, like usual.”

“No, it’s not a problem. I know we were short on time today.”

“We made the most of it, though. Didn’t we?”

All Vincent had to do was lean in and kiss Connie, a quick peck on the lips, and she knew they were in agreement.

Back downstairs, for a quick scrub of the floors to remove all signs of come. Vincent would clean the blood, but both Kitten and Mutt were used to that sight, so Connie wasn’t particularly concerned about it. And then it was off to the minivan, to the elementary school where Mutt awaited her. He was grass stained, and sweaty, and smiling with his tongue lolling out like a tired puppy. But there was no blood this time, for which Connie found herself extremely grateful.

Kitten was next, and her daughter was quite a bit messier than her son. The girl stood outside the mall, smoking a cigarette with one of her friends. Blood splattered her letterman’s jacket, and the man Connie had noticed earlier in the day was now hanging upside-down by his ankles from one of the windows. His pale skin and tattoos had melded into one with all the black and blue bruises now adorning his flesh, and the blood that dripped from one of his arms clued Connie into why Kitten herself was so gruesome.

Before she could admonish her daughter, however, Kitten pranced right into the shotgun seat. “I got a call from one of my cousins today,” she said, cutting Connie off.

“That’s nice, dear, but - ”

“From one of my  _ Richards  _ cousins, Mom.”

Connie paused. Breathed in. Opened her eyes, just the tiniest bit, giving Kitten a slit of purple iris. “Oh?”

“He says we’re gonna have a visitor soon.”

“Well, why don’t you let the adults worry about preparations for  _ that.”  _ Despite her no-nonsense tone, Connie did find the information rather interesting. A guest from the Richards’ side of the family? That could only mean fun, for her.


End file.
